Midnight (12 page)
The engine noises cut off. Chris shivered. It wasn’t a relief that he could no longer hear them.
“Have they ever attacked here?”
“
Sí
. But we make them pay for every step.”
Sí
. But we make them pay for every step.”
“But you just grabbed a big haul, out there on the highway. Tempting.”
“The valley gives us the perfect position to see anyone coming—especially trucks.”
Chris vaulted down from the rock and turned to look up at her. “How many bravos do you think are sober and ready to fight? Right now?”
She flicked her chin toward town, then back to that southwest ridge. “We ration alcohol. Some men are always posted on sentry duty, and the rest would be ready in a minute. We always keep the Burning Night random, well away from a raid. That way no one can see our pattern to learn when we’re vulnerable.”
“And these pirates have always attacked from their vehicles?”
“That’s right.”
All he could hear now was the desert quiet. But something else was out there. Chris could practically hear them creeping in, all shadowy echoes of that blasted dream. The future of Valle de Bravo depended on Rosa putting her trust in him. No easy task, considering he barely trusted himself.
“But what if they didn’t have a minute?” He held up his hand, offering it to her, silently urging her to come with him. “No trucks, Rosa. Not this time. What if they were coming in on foot?”
ELEVEN
“You sure of this?”
Chris’s silence wasn’t reassuring, but she couldn’t afford to take chances. Peltz had demonstrated a little more intelligence than other roving bands. Just a little, mind, or else the raiders would’ve changed their lifestyle. But from his patient strategy, he must be ruthless and cunning. Maybe he envisioned taking over Valle de Bravo, with his men in place of Rosa’s. A leader that arrogant would figure women wouldn’t care who protected them.
Rosa smiled and shook her head.
Shows what he knows.
Shows what he knows.
Bouncing on the balls of his feet, Chris’s impatience demanded her attention. He wanted her to call the bravos in from Burning Night on the idea he could hear something she didn’t. The old adage “better safe than sorry” made her pull the pistol out of her gun belt and fire two warning shots into the air. Then she scampered down the hill at a run. The men were already forming up, most cussing and half dressed. If Chris was wrong, she’d let them beat him senseless for interrupting one of the few nights they got to drink and carouse.
“What the hell?” Brick demanded.
Ingrid didn’t look any happier at having her night with Ex interrupted. Neither of them hooked up often, so this meant a rare break from their taciturn natures.
“We got incoming,” Rosa said. “I want all able-bodied men at their posts.”
“We’d see them,” Falco said. “Hear their trucks.”
She narrowed her eyes. “Who’s giving the orders here?”
The answer was obvious when they all grabbed weapons and prepared to fight. Ex was one of their best shooters; he scaled up a lookout post. Falco did too, as he was damn fine with a rifle. Other gunmen did likewise. Jameson waited in the middle of town, knives at the ready, and Brick fell in beside him, fists upraised. He fought barehanded better than most men could with any number of weapons. Ingrid, too, preferred to fight in a melee. Opponents nearly always pegged her as a soft target. It was fun to watch them underestimate her as she ripped them up with krav maga.
Rosa cocked her head. Now she could hear it in the silence too—the telltale crunch of footsteps over loose rock, the occasional muffled curse drifting on the night wind. She smelled them as well. Living as they did, dust pirates stank of what they ate and drank: half-rancid meat and poorly fermented sour mash. The stench carried on the night wind.
Chris had been right. She’d deal with that uncomfortable fact later.
Now it was a matter of determining how many approached.
Thanks to early warning, the bravos had time to get into position and defend the perimeter. Rosa shouldered a rifle and ran into what had been a church. She jogged up the steps to the tower, wiping sweaty palms on her pants. But the flash of nerves went in a blink. This was her life.
Rough, unkempt men in makeshift armor edged over the ridge. If not for Chris, Valle would have been caught flat-footed. When the first man came into range, she sighted and took the shot—a clean kill right through the neck. It wasn’t the clean shot of a sniper, but one intended as a deterrent. So fucking messy. He gurgled as he died, blood spurting from the wound in his throat.
“Think twice!” she called to the rest. “I can drop five more of you before you take ten steps. All my men are in position. You can’t do anything but die here.”
A raider screamed, “Mexican bitch! I’m gonna tear your head off and—”
She shot him before he finished the sentence. “I’m from Guatemala, you
hijo de puta
.”
hijo de puta
.”
They didn’t listen, of course. They charged toward town. Rosa dropped three of them as fast as she’d claimed. The other two were smarter, using cover to block her shots. More crept in from all sides, slinking between buildings. For the first time since she’d settled in the valley, Peltz’s dust pirates reached the center of town. But her bravos were ready, sweeping out of shadowy hiding places. Even half drunk, they were more than a match for this desert trash. Such men didn’t train or build; they only scavenged and stole. They were human hyenas, as bad as those damned hellhounds.
Ingrid grinned as two men ran for her. With her slim build and gleaming pale hair, she looked almost ethereal in the moonlight. She greeted the first with a block, a blow to his windpipe, and a smashing blow to the back of his neck. He went down before the second one reached her. Lightly, Ingrid leaped away from his clumsy attack. She kneed him in the groin and followed with a punishing kick to his knee.
Rosa took a shot when she had one, but with the close fighting below, she feared hitting one of her own men. Close combat hamstrung her other sharpshooters too, but they maintained a wary eye. Falco and Ex laid down cover fire, preventing more raiders from cresting the hill.
“West, Falco,” she called. He turned to drop a couple of late stragglers.
She studied the battle in the street below, looking for tactical advantage. Brick laid a raider out with one punch and whirled for another. Death came from above, as Ex shot the one Brick had knocked out.
Efficient, playing to our strength.
Rosa nodded her approval. They would do this. They would keep doing it until no one remained to offer challenge.
Efficient, playing to our strength.
Rosa nodded her approval. They would do this. They would keep doing it until no one remained to offer challenge.
To her surprise, Chris waded in. He had a lean build that didn’t seem suited for hand-to-hand. But he appeared to enjoy brawling. Satisfaction showed in every well-struck swing. He fought as if he’d learned the hard way. No fancy moves. Just anger and wiry strength. Good intuitive technique, though—flurry to the kidney, slam to the eardrums, hook, uppercut. The last blow sent his opponent’s head snapping back. Rosa heard the crunch even from her position.
Damn. Broke his neck.
Chris was stronger than he looked.
Chris was stronger than he looked.
Another ran at his back. She shouted a warning. The raider managed to get a knife in Chris, but she couldn’t tell how bad it was. He threw the bastard to the ground. Rosa sighted and shot, slugging a bullet into a meaty shoulder. Chris took advantage of the wound and dug his fingers in. The other man screamed and screamed . . . until he didn’t anymore. The doc showed no hint he had trouble taking lives.
Jameson preferred to fight alone. He was so fast that he could take on three or four men at once. His blades gleamed as he twirled, part Filipino knife style, part gutter survival. With his free hand he broke a man’s arm. The raider screamed while Jameson cut his throat. Dead in five seconds. She’d never seen anyone stand up with him longer than that. Lightning speed combined with his utter focus.
Echoes of gunfire came from other parts of town. Rifles sparked from rocky outcroppings, dropping any attackers who still crawled. She identified Mica and Viv as the shooters. None of the women but Ingrid would fight in close combat, but the rest were fair shots. They did their part in defending Valle.
Rosa took aim at those who tried to run, except for one. She called to him, “Tell your leader we’ll hit back if he doesn’t stop testing our defenses. I promise we won’t be as kind as we were this time.”
“I’ll tell him,” came the terrified reply.
Shit, he sounds young.
A knock of guilt always stirred in her chest when that happened. Maybe if they’d had a chance somewhere better, they wouldn’t turn into mean, dishonorable drunks like the rest. But in the midst of an attack, she was never in the position to invite such kids to stay. This one had to carry her message. He turned and limped out of town, but Jameson watched his back with complete intensity. It wasn’t until he’d vanished from sight that Jameson turned toward the house he shared with Tilly. Sometimes Rosa envied her that devotion.
Footsteps warned she had a visitor incoming, so she wiped away the longing. She wasn’t surprised to find Falco. He was nothing if not persistent.
“All clear,” he said. “You want me to tell the men—”
“I give the orders.” Rosa kept her tone polite, but firm. “Thanks anyway.”
This struggle wasn’t going to stay civil for long, but hopefully it wouldn’t catch fire tonight. She was too tired to stake a proper claim. She brushed past him before he could decide to make more of her refusal.
Rosa ran lightly down the stairs, rifle slung over one shoulder. They still needed more ammo; it was an ongoing concern. Their supplies were low, and she was loath to tap into the emergency stores. Eventually it would mean hand-to-hand combat for the rest of their days.
“Good work,” she called. Everyone hooted in response. “I need a couple of extra volunteers to stand watch in case they double back.”
They always had at least one man on duty, but it seemed wise to play it safe tonight. Rosa scanned the crowd, seeing whose hands went up. Rio, of course. It seemed like the muchacho never slept. Eventually Lem put his arm in the air too. Made sense. He might feel the need to earn back the respect he’d lost by trying to force himself on Singer.
With the town safe, the bravos dispersed—already trading good-natured stories about their part in the defense. Rosa smiled as she turned for home, hoping to make it there before someone confided a problem that she needed to handle. The adrenaline kick of the fight was seeping out of her pores. It had been a fucking long day. She needed to sleep.
She had just closed the door and lit a lamp when a knock sounded. Biting off a particularly foul curse, she went to answer it. With the door open only a crack, Rosa glared at whoever opposed her getting some rest.
It was their new doctor, of course.
“Go to bed,” she snarled.
He grinned at her. “If you insist, but I really came by because you mentioned books.”
Right. Men always want books in the middle of the night.
In her experience, men used all kinds of excuses to get their foot in the door.
She didn’t budge. “Not tonight. Besides, if you want to see them, you got to earn it.”
“Earn it, how?”
“Deliver the baby. Then you’ll deserve a look at my library.”
“I’ll do everything I can,” he said gravely.
“I—” She curled her fingernails into the wood of the door. “Thank you. For what you did tonight. You probably saved us some wounded, at least.”
He nodded once. Dark shadows filled his eye sockets, making it hard to read his expression. After a half dozen heartbeats, standing there quietly, he turned to go.
Rosa saw the tear in his shirt and the gash down his back. From that raider he’d battled. The slash wasn’t deep, and only about ten centimeters long, but Chris wouldn’t be able to clean it. Infection set in fast in the hot weather, and they couldn’t spare the medicine. In fact, he had brought more drugs with him than they’d seen in two years. They had learned to get by without, sometimes with heartbreaking consequences.
She sighed faintly. “Go to the
taberna
and wait for me. I’ll be there shortly.”
taberna
and wait for me. I’ll be there shortly.”
“Why?”
“You’re injured. Somebody has to patch you up.”
“Why you?” Something in his tone said he wanted a specific response, a hint of softness.
Hell if she would admit to such inclinations. She hadn’t gotten where she was by revealing her weak places. So she offered, “Who else would bother?”
“Grim fucking point. I could come in, if that would be easier.” That didn’t sound like a line. Too tentative, like her concern struck a strange note with him.
But it wasn’t personal. They needed him for Tilly and Jameson’s sake. Otherwise Rosa had no stake in whether his back healed.
“Not in my house. Not after dark. There would be talk.”
But as she watched the tall, lovely line of him walking away, she knew her initial assessment was on the mark. He would bring trouble, even as he’d brought medicine and a glimmer of hope.
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