Cold Day in Hell (14 page)

He shot a disgusted glance at Conn who shrugged and mouthed “dumb asses.” Picking their shots, they easily took out the two men outside the vehicles and disabled the vehicles. Then Risto heard shots which sounded as if they came from inside the house. Not semi-automatic fire, but single, well-placed shots as if someone were executing targets. Then came a flurry of shots. His blood chilled at the implications.

“Fuck, Conn. Someone’s shooting inside the house.”

Conn looked murderous and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s finish clearing the path. We need to get in there.”

Conn taking the lead, Risto followed. They stayed in the shadows and approached the vehicle in which the two men had hunkered down with a perfect angle to shoot anyone attempting to enter the house. With their vehicle disabled, the men were stuck, probably counting on the armor-plating to protect them, hoping they’d get lucky and take out him and Conn first, or got help from their buddies inside the house.

His friend signaled he’d go to the driver’s side. Risto nodded. As Conn moved from bush to bush along the drive, using the enemies’ other vehicle to cover his movements, the passenger side door opened and a man dove out, firing blindly.

Risto yelled, “my side,” and took the man out.

“Fire in the hole!” He warned Conn to stay down and stay put, then peppered the passenger-side opening with semi-automatic fire.

“Guy’s toast,” Conn called out. “I’m on cleanup. Get your ass to Callie.” Risto took off, running toward the open front door. He heard several more shots from inside and then nothing. His heart in his throat, he cleared the entryway and the den, then approached the great room. Through the doorway he spied a scene from Hell. Javier dead on the couch, broken neck. Two unknown men lying on the floor near the French doors.

Their heads had taken large caliber rounds and they lay in a pool of blood and brain matter. And Ricky, with several wounds, lay on the ground near the sofa. He was alive, in visible pain, glaring at something or someone Risto couldn’t see.
Callie?

He surged into the room, going low, sweeping his weapon from side to side.

“Callie!”

Before he could even begin his search for her in the bloody wreckage, a movement at the French doors captured his eye. Simultaneously, Callie’s voice cried out, “French doors!” He dove, shooting at the black silhouette, as shots rang out.

From his position face down on the floor, he felt bullets whizz over him and thud into the wall next to the opening to the hall, then nothing. Staying on his stomach, he crawled to the side of the room from where Callie’s shots had arisen. She was on her belly by a chair, in shooter’s position, a Glock held steadily in a two-handed grip, with her gaze fixed on the doors to the patio. She muttered under her breath, “Possum or not?

Possum or not?” She shook her head and sighed in despair. She ignored his presence, possibly didn’t even register he was there, and began to belly crawl toward the patio doors.

“Callie. Sweetheart?” He kept his voice low and calm so as not to startle her. She stopped crawling. She breathed heavily, but seemed to be holding it together. She was in the zone. He recognized it because he’d been there many times. Not knowing when to stand down. Wondering if the enemy was defeated or not. Knowing he needed to make sure and put another shot in each and every enemy’s head.

“Baby? I can check the enemy. Callie, love, you’ve done enough.” He touched her arm.

She gasped and blinked then looked at him. At first it was a blank, icy stare, then her gray eyes warmed to their normal color. “Risto?” Her voice was soft, breathless, broken.

It was as if she’d forgotten how to breathe and talk at the same time.

“Give me the gun, honey.” He held out his hand.

She shook her head. “Could be more. Can’t stand down yet. Need to check…”

“I’ll check, Callie.” Conn stood in the doorway to the great room, his gun at the ready. “You let Risto check you over, sweet cheeks. You’ve got blood on your arms and face.”

She frowned, confusion in her gaze. “I do? I wasn’t hit. Ricochets, maybe? I was behind cover the whole time.” She swiped a finger over the blood on her forearms and scowled. “Maybe glass from the patio doors—I had to stay low so Ricky couldn’t get a bead on me.”

Risto let out a sigh of relief. She was back and thinking. Not that she wouldn’t collapse sooner or later, the adrenaline crash and the fact she’d killed tonight would hit her. But he’d be there to help her through it. The fact she’d survived, and survived well, again confirmed Keely and Tweeter’s assessment of her ability and her innate courage.

He crawled closer and took the gun from her hand and set the safety, tucking it in his waistband at his back. He swept a shaky hand over her face. No holes, just scratches from flying bits and pieces of the room.

She smiled and leaned into his touch, then frowned as if she just recalled something.

“You okay?” She touched his face. “I heard shooting outside right before I shot the first two guys. It took me longer to get Ricky, since the coward hung back. But the other two were more dangerous. Had to shoot them first. Daddy always told us not to shoot until we knew which were the most dangerous targets and then to take them down fast and hard.

No mercy. Dead man can’t come back to kill … kill…” Her face went white, her eyes glazed over, and she began to cry. “Ohmygod, ohmygod…”

Shoving his gun in his shoulder holster, Risto pulled her into his arms, then stood.

He headed for the hall. As he carried her away from the carnage, he peppered kisses over her hair, her face, anywhere he could reach. Rocking her in his arms, between kisses, he muttered nonsense words, words of praise. As he walked, he thanked God for keeping her alive. He also added a few silent words of appreciation to her dad for teaching her how to defend herself.

Her loud, heart-wrenching sobs hurt him to his very soul. He walked into the kitchen where Berto stood, pulling a steaming pan off the stove. Obviously, Callie had been cooking when the bad shit went down.

Berto caught his eye. “The little one did good. She survived. Upstairs is a mess. She must have been down here when it went down. This is good, yes?”

“Yes. She took out three mercs. Ricky is seriously wounded. I’d say the little one did very well.”

“Berto,” Callie lifted her head from his chest. She sniffed, wiping her eyes. “Ricky

… he … killed Javier.”

Shock then anger colored Berto’s face. “Did you shoot Ricky, Callie?”

“Yes. But I didn’t kill him… I wanted to … but knew Conn would need to … uh, question him about who he sold out to.” She buried her face in Risto’s chest and shuddered.

“She may not have killed him, but she did a number on him. Blew out his knee. His gun arm and hand are a mess.” Risto stroked her hair, smoothing out the tangles and picking out pieces of plaster. “He probably wishes he were dead.” And if he didn’t now, he would after Berto and Conn got done with him. Callie’s instincts had been good; they needed to know how far the damage from Ricky turning traitor went. If Ricky had exposed Conn’s operation, then they wouldn’t be safe here and would have to move out tonight. More than just Javier’s death or Callie’s thwarted kidnapping was involved.

Berto’s expression was deadly as he left the kitchen to check for himself.

Risto settled into a large club chair in the hearth room just off the open concept kitchen. As he cuddled her on his lap, he stroked her hair and let her compose herself.

She’d had a hell of a time over the last two days and probably needed a good cry just for the emotional release. Hell, there’d been times after a bloody battle he wished he could cry. Instead, he got drunk and had sex. He couldn’t visualize Callie casually indulging in booze and sex to excess.

Conn entered the hearth room and covered Callie with a throw from the great room sofa. His friend swept a shaky hand over Callie’s hair before Risto shoved it away. “She took the two mercs out with single head shots,” Conn said.

The first two shots I heard
.

“Ricky, the fucking traitor, is a mess.”

Probably the exchange of shots that followed the first two.

“She did a good job on him. He’s belly-aching. Said ‘who’d have thought a
chica
could shoot like a black ops soldier.’ Said he thought she would kill him, instead she shot his hand and then moved his gun out of reach with another shot.”
The last two shots I heard, which drove me insane with the need to find her.

Conn snorted back a laugh. “I heard she saved your ass, too, taking the guy out at the French doors?”

Risto shrugged, stroking Callie’s back. “I took a shot.”

“Well, buddy, you weren’t shooting a Glock with 9 mm jacketed hollow points, she was. She took the fucker out with another perfect head shot. Damn fine shooting. Don’t know too many soldiers aside from special forces who could’ve done as well.” Risto shook his head and smiled. “Well, she was trained by the best.” Callie sniffed and turned her face to lie on his chest. “I … I heard Daddy’s voice in my head. Remembered what he taught us. I … I … had to take them out.” She looked up at Conn then him, her fingers digging into his shirt. “You were coming back. I didn’t know how many were outside … couldn’t worry about them at that point. But inside…” She inhaled and blew out a breath, then took another full breath before continuing. “I found poor Javier … heard intruders upstairs searching. Alarm was off. All wrong …

knew someone … not someone … Ricky … just knew…” She shrugged.

Risto stroked his hand down her side. “You put it all together. Smart girl. Then what, Callie? Get the rest out, sweetheart.”

She sucked in a breath and exhaled noisily, noticeably calmer than even seconds before, but the horrific knowledge she’d taken lives was in her eyes. “I couldn’t run.

They probably planned for that.”

She looked at Conn who’d knelt by the chair. A grim-looking Berto had come back into the room and leaned against the wall. Both men nodded, acknowledging her thinking. She’d done well. If she’d run, she would’ve been caught instantly.

Her lips twisted into a slight smile at the two men’s agreement. “So, I took … took Javier’s gun and hid behind the chair … then waited … waited to take my shots … make them count. Dead man can’t shoot you.” She shuddered and rubbed her cheek against his shirt. “Could I have done it any differently?” She looked at him, then the other two, tears welling in her eyes. “I was ready to kill Ricky. I looked right at him, waited to see whether he’d go for the gun…”

Callie started, gasping for breath. Risto growled, angry he hadn’t been there to take the burdens off her slender shoulders, angry that she had to kill to stay safe. “Shh, baby.” She was in danger of hyperventilating. “Slow breaths.”

“I c-can’t…” She shook her head, a wild look in her eyes.

He took her mouth in a kiss and breathed for her. When her breathing changed and she began to respond to the kiss, he pulled away. He smiled at her dilated eyes and pink cheeks.

“You did the right thing,” he said. “Ricky would’ve gone for the gun, and if you’d hesitated…”

Licking her lips, she stroked his jaw. “I didn’t hesitate. It all happened so fast and I just acted. It was as if it wasn’t me doing the shooting but some alternate Callie.” She shrugged, her lips turned down into a grimace. “When Ricky’s nostrils flared and his fingers twitched, I knew he’d kill me. He was livid and in pain and wanted me dead. So, I shot his hand, then the gun. I thought about a head shot … maybe for a split second, then thought no, he wouldn’t get off so easily.” She looked at Conn and then Berto. “He killed Javier in cold blood, killed him for money. He sold you all out so I left him alive for you.”

“And Berto and I thank you. We will take justice for Javier.” Conn leaned over and kissed her forehead. Risto hissed and Conn grinned. “And we’ll find out what else he might have told the enemy.”

“I already did. The coward told me all.” Berto’s lips twisted into an evil smile. “The
pendejo
didn’t sell us out to Cruz. He hooked up with a bunch of mercenaries who were out for the reward Cruz was offering. He swears they were the only ones he told of this place. I believe him. He was greedy and didn’t want anyone taking away his prize.” Berto spat on the floor. “He will never sell anyone out again. My
familia
will take care of the
espuma
.

Berto came off his position near the wall and knelt in front of the chair. Shooting Risto a “fuck-you” grin, he gently picked up one of her hands and raised it to his lips.

“Javier was my cousin.” Callie gasped. Risto kissed the top of her head, offering what comfort he could. “On behalf of my
familia,
I thank you for honoring his death by taking down his killer. You are now family. If you need help, me, my brothers, and all my cousins will come and fight for you.” He placed her hand back on Risto’s chest, got up, bowed and left.

“He meant that,” said Conn. “And I’ll be there right alongside them if you need me.” Callie shook her head, the saddest sigh escaping her lips. “If only I’d checked earlier, I might’ve stopped Javier from being killed.”

“Don’t think that way. It’ll only make you crazy.” Risto brushed a kiss over the side of her face, swearing silently at the bloody scratches on her smooth skin. Wanting to divert her attention from self-recrimination and the battle she’d just survived, he sniffed the air. “I smell something good. Think you could eat?” He didn’t figure the traumatic side effects from the evening’s events were over yet or had even all appeared, but he knew from experience, the sooner a soldier could get back to normalcy, the better. “You want me to fix you something? How about a glass of wine or maybe something stronger?”