Abducted: Reconnaissance Team (Texas Rangers: Special Ops Book 1) (27 page)

They reached the kitchen and she realized they were taking her outside. Where were they going? Where was Carlos Sanchez? He’d been with R.W.. What had they done to R.W.? They went through the pantry and the American’s companion hurried through the outside door. The American followed. Liz stiffened.

“Remember what I said,” he growled.

“How do I know you haven’t already killed R.W.?” she demanded.

He gave a gritty laugh. “You don’t.”

They stepped off the porch and rain pelted her.

Liz dug her heels into the sod. “Then why should I go with you?” she shouted over the rain.

He began dragging her. In seconds, her hair plastered across her face. Up ahead, the flashlight bobbed in the darkness. In the far distance, lights dotted the mountainside. Not everyone had lost power. Was it possible Sanchez and his goons had cut their powerline? No, not unless they could climb power poles.

Liz became aware that she was slipping from her captor’s grasp and realized the rain made her arms slick. He jerked and, in the next instant, they went down. Her head hit the ground. Stars burst before her eyes. She shook her head, then vaguely realized she was free of her captor. Liz pushed up onto an elbow. Lightning flashed, then left her in dizzying darkness.

A weight clamped around her waist and large hands shoved her shoulders against the ground. Rain beat down on her face. He released her shoulders and yanked on buttons of her jeans. Liz struck his back with a knee. He grunted but didn’t stop. Rain and terror blinded her. She flailed, body twisting, fists pounding. Her right fist smashed his ear and her self-defense instructor’s voice played in her head.
“A knee to the groin will stop every men. But if you can do that, can rip off the man’s ear. Grab that ear and don’t let go.”

Liz latched onto his right ear and yanked as hard as she could. He released her jeans with a howl of pain and slid sideways. The ear slipped from her grasp. Her heart thundered. She went for the ear again but his hand covered it.

“Motherfuck. You fucking cunt.” 

Instructor Wo must have been wrong. She caught his other ear in her right hand.

He gave a feral growl. Her grip started to slip at the first pull. “
Don’t let go, and pull like you’re zipping up those tight jeans.”
She threw all her strength into zipping up that ear. It seemed to slip more, then the ear ripped free. Her hand banged against the ground with the force of her yank.

A clap of thunder drowned out the incessant pounding of the rain along with the American’s scream. He rolled off her, and her stomach churned when she realized his ear lay wet and limp in her hand like raw bacon. She dropped the ear, then shoved to her feet.

Wo said it only took five pounds of force to rip off an ear. She thought him crazy—until now. The American moaned. Adrenaline pumped through her. Wo had also told them to flee an attacker, but this attacker had come back too many times. She distinguished his outline in the dark. He rocked on his knees. Liz drew back a leg and kicked his head. He cried out, then went silent. 

* * *

A man screamed. No doubt about it. Ben had heard a man scream—outside. Dammit. First a shot inside the house, now a man’s scream outside. What the hell was going on? Pistol in his right hand, he extended his left hand forward and hurried as best he could through the kitchen to the mudroom. He stopped short two paces into the room when the sound of rain and the rush of wind told him the door stood open.

He crept forward, reached the door, then slowly edged down the two stairs to the ground. Rain hit in big drops, but Ben was certain the storm had eased. Movement up ahead caught his attention. Weapon at ready, Ben shook rain from his eyes in an effort to better make out shapes in the darkness.

Something made hard contact with his belly. The wind rushed from his lungs. He swung his gun left, half doubled over, wheezing in a painful breath. Something rammed into his shoulder. He stumbled right—thankful it was his left shoulder that had taken the blow—then dove to the left and tackled his attacker.

They hit the ground. The pistol flew from his hand as they rolled in the mud. His attacker struck out at his face and Ben realized he had his arms around a woman.

Liz
.

Ben clamped his arms around her and hugged her tightly to him. “Liz.” It really was her.
Finally
. “Liz.”

She twisted and grunted, still trying to break free. A kick to his knee proved it.

“Liz,” he said more firmly.

She stilled, then threw her arms around him. His head pounded and his shoulder ached, but he felt as if the weight of the world had lifted from him. She began shaking.

“Are you injured?” he demanded, then regretted how ingrained training had forced such a clinical question.

She shook her head. They both were soaking wet. He had to get up and get her into the house.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“How sweet,” said a male voice over the rain.

Liz stiffened and Ben’s eyes flew open. A flashlight beam captured them in its circle of light.

“Finding you two together makes being in this pouring rain worth the trouble,” Carlos Sanchez said.

A whimper sounded in the darkness somewhere to their right.

“Get up,” Sanchez ordered.

“Easy,” Ben whispered to Liz.

He pushed to his feet, pulling her with him. In the shadow cast by the flashlight beam, Ben glimpsed the barrel of the Bullpup lying on the ground to his left. The weapon must have fallen off when Liz attacked him. Sanchez held a large-barreled pistol aimed at them. No way he could dive for the Bullpup before Sanchez shot Liz or him. Had Liz been his partner, the one closest to rifle would go for the weapon while the other took out the thug. But Liz wasn’t trained for combat. In a hostage situation with a civilian, the book said, talk first and look for an opening. Don’t risk innocent lives.

A shadow shifted behind Sanchez. Friend or foe? Friend. One of Sanchez’s goons wouldn’t skulk behind his boss.

“You lied, you bastard,” Liz snapped.

Ben startled at her outburst, then realized she, too, had seen the shadow. Where had she gotten a copy of the Ranger training book?

“You said he was dead.” She took a step forward as if to confront Sanchez.

Ben grasped her arm and pulled her back. “What did you expect, Liz? He’s a liar.”

The hand holding the flashlight shifted to illuminate the Bullpup. “Do not try to grab your weapon,” Sanchez said.

The shadow figure held an arm raised as if to strike. Then the figure took shape, arm not raised in a strike as Ben had thought, but pressing a hand to his head.

“Shoot her. That cunt ripped off my ear,” the man said.

Sanchez spun.

Ben yanked Liz to him and dove for the ground. They hit the slippery grass and slid. Pain from his wound stuttered his breath. She screamed. Ben shoved her away and grabbed the Bullpup. Sanchez whirled and fired. The bullet pounded into the ground inches from Ben’s face.

Ben rolled away from Liz, the light beam tracking his movement. Pain and anger tunneled his vision. Another report boomed from Sanchez and a round zinged past Ben’s head.

Liz screamed his name as Ben brought the rifle to bear on the blurry form holding the light. He squeezed off one round. Missed, but the man with no ear doubled over.

Ben rolled again, this time in control, first slamming his rifle on the ground, then rolling over it, shouldering the pain, centering the flashlight in his vision. The earless man collapsed into Sanchez’s legs. Sanchez fired again. A wild shot. The recoil jerked his aim toward Liz. His balance wavered as the other man slumped.

Ben rolled to a kneeling position. Taking the hip shot, the flashlight went airborne. Ben squeezed off another shot. Sanchez went down.

* * *

Liz realized the screams she heard were hers. Soaking wet with rain and mud, she tried to rise, but her legs gave way as if made of rubber. Strong hands grasped her shoulders and pulled her up. She fell against Ben and he wrapped her in his arms, solid and warm, a wall of protection. 

“It’s okay, honey.” He hugged her tighter. “You’re all right.” 

Was she really all right?

Ben had shot Sanchez. But was it over? In bad movies, the villain kept coming back and coming back. Liz shook her head, her face pressed against Ben’s chest. It wasn’t all right. It would never be all right.

“Shh,” Ben soothed, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

Rain continued to beat down on them. Tears began to fall and she didn’t think they would ever stop. She tasted salt. Then Ben hugged her close against his uninjured shoulder.

“What happened?” a male voice said.

“Braxton?” Ben said. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“He’s helping me.” Hal rose from his squat beside Sanchez and Liz cried harder. Hal was alive. “He won’t be bothering us anymore,” Hal said over the rain.

Ben guided Liz toward the house. “We’re taking shelter,” he said. “Braxton, grab that flashlight and come inside. You too, Hal.”

Liz didn’t think she breathed until the rain cut off and Ben was urging her to sit. She tightened her arms around his neck, but she then caught sight of a flashlight beam and the man holding the flashlight. Embarrassment heated her cheeks. She sat settled on the couch. Something banged her hip and she realized with a start that Ben had a rifle slung over his back and she had bumped the butt.

Liz checked her waistband. She’d buttoned up her jeans without realizing it. Was it her imagination or could she still feel her attacker’s fingers clawing at her panties?

Ben sat down beside her. “You’re safe, Liz.” He twisted and looked at Agent Braxton. “There’s a hurricane lamp in the kitchen pantry closet.”

“I know where it is,” Hal said. They left and the room went dark.

Ben’s arm encircled her. “Are you all right?” he asked her.

She wasn’t, not really, but she knew what he meant, and said “Yes,” despite the tremor working its way through her body. 

“Where’s R.W.?” The quiet words belied the concern evident in his voice.

“Oh, Ben.” Liz began to cry. “Mr. Sanchez had R.W.”

“Where?” Ben demanded.

She shook her head. “I don’t know. He—Sanchez—called me while I was hiding. R.W. and Agent Masters hid me in a closet upstairs. Mr. Sanchez called me.” She was babbling, but couldn’t seem to stop.

“How did he get your number?” Ben asked.

“I don’t know. But he had R.W.. I heard him in the background when Mr. Sanchez called. The American and the other man found me. They knew I was hiding in the upstairs closet. How is that possible?”

“I don’t know,” Ben replied.

“They took me outside, then you came.”

“You have no clue where they took R.W.?” Ben asked. “Probably somewhere outside the house,” he said before she could reply. “If they had him inside they wouldn’t have gotten you outside. And they couldn’t have him in a car. I would have seen it. Where’s Masters?”

“The last I saw of him was when he and R.W. hid me in the closet. Someone was shooting at us. Agent Braxton went to the car and they shot out a headlight. Hal went to check the fuse box upstairs.”

Ben shifted, then his cell phone lit up in his hand. “No bars,” he muttered. “What about the land line?”

“It’s on a modem,” she said. “It’s out with the electricity.”

He shifted again and she realized he was straining to see something in the direction the men had disappeared. He wanted to go and look for R.W.

“Go look for them,” she said. “I’ll be okay.” Though the thought of being alone in the dark started her insides trembling again.

“You’re trembling.” He pulled her tight against him. “I’ll look for the boys as soon as Hal and Braxton get back.”

His cold, soaked shirt pressed against her chest where her shirt lay open, and she shivered. “Is he really dead?” she asked.

“Two bullets to the heart. You’ve got your life back, Liz.”

Did she? What did her life consist of now?

Behind Ben, in the hallway, light crept toward them, then Agent Braxton and Hal appeared in the doorway. Ben released her as they approached. Hal set the lamp on an end table and Ben’s gaze locked onto her bared chest.

His eyes yanked up to her face. “What happened?”

“I’m all right.” Her teeth began to chatter. “The American—”

Ben seized her shoulders. “The American what?”

She began to shake. “Nothing happened. No time. I—” She felt cold. So cold.

“You what?” Ben demanded.

“I pulled off his ear.”

Ben blinked. ”That’s what he was saying?”

“It’s laying out there in the rain,” she said through chattering teeth.

“She’s going into shock,” Ben said. “Hand me the afghan from the chair near the window.”

A moment later, Agent Braxton draped the afghan around her shoulders.

“You’ve got to get out of this wet shirt, Liz.” He pulled the sleeve from her left arm, then wrapped the blanket around that arm, then did the same with the other arm and snugged the afghan tight around her.