(CRAZY ENOUGH has been chosen as a TOP 10 finalist in Harlequin's SYTYCW contest. Vote for my story at: http://www.soyouthinkyoucanwrite.com/crazy-enough/ Thank you everyone!)
Chapter 1
Mexico's ChihuahuanDesert was sweltering enough without airplanes exploding all over the place.
Okay, so it had been only one small, single prop aircraft, but the explosion was still hot and unsettling. Corkie Brooks resisted the urge to shield her face from the hot inferno and crouched further behind a cropping of rust-hued rocks high on a ridge, five hundred yards away. Her Nikon clicked like crazy, taking on a life of its own while she photographed the whole scene below. Scores of men from a variety of countries recklessly fired automatic weapons and ducked behind dusty SUVs and abandoned cargo. Bullets whizzed through the dry, hot, air, plunking into rock and metal as often as live flesh. Thank the Lord, none of those men knew she was up here, working silently and secretly, as a mini-war raged down in the valley.
The July sun beat down, burning the back of Corkie's neck, but being one of the best independent photojournalist in the world-if she didn't say so herself-she didn't notice the heat as the photos framed themselves before her eyes.
Arriving at her current location hours before, Corkie scouted the best place to hide and still see all of the valley below her. At first, only a single, black Escalade idled next to the old hanger, looking pristine and out of place. Then all sorts of vehicles arrived, men pooling out into the open and went through the usual greetings. Their business together seemed primarily normal. They could have been discussing the stock exchange around an oval conference table in Manhattan for all the mediocrity she witnessed. It was kinda boring, actually, if not for the dozen bodyguards standing diligently behind each V.I.P., casually holding semi-automatic rifles.
But then a small aircraft descended onto the crude runway, rolling to a stop, emitting more well-dressed visitors, and the arguments began...and then the shooting. Men started dying or fleeing, and the plane exploding during a hasty take-off had just been another casualty.
Corkie wanted to squeal with delight; she could not believe her luck. The action, the bloodshed, all those international criminals in one place! Even Hibram Espinoza, the Mexican cartel boss who had his hands, elbows-deep, in nearly every major criminal-and some innocent-business dealing in the Western Hemisphere, was out in the open for the first time in six years! There was a Chinese gang boss, a few Middle Eastern arms dealers, an American drug lord, and...and...yes, there! There he was. Niro Sultanovich. The only reason Corkie hopped a plane out of D.C. two days ago and hiked several miles through the desert to set her butt on this ridge.
Her informant told her no other details of the meeting, just the location where Niro would be. He was only son of a Slavic crime boss, Anton Sultanovich, and Corkie would know his face anywhere. She'd been chronicling the Sultanovich family for darn near ten years. They were her fascination, her obsession. Niro, especially, got her camera buzzing, since he was rumored to be dead.
Dog-sledding accident, my butt, she thought when she heard about his demise two years ago, not believing it then either. Now, he popped up, out of the blue, and in Mexico.
Got you now, Niro, you bastard, she sang in her head as she clicked his photo over and over. Corkie zoomed in on the light-haired man. He huddled behind a stack of steel barrels while his personal guard attempted to clear a path. This was the story of the year-the World's Most-Wanted Reunion and Niro's presence -and she solely knew about it. Her only task today was to get in, get the pictures, and get out unseen. Just few more...then I'm out of here.
Corkie's camera hit the end of the SD card storage, and her low battery icon flashed, but she clicked a few more to store into the camera's internal unit...just in case. Quickly, she slipped the tiny card out of the camera and tucked it in a small pocket inside the cup of her bra-a trick she learned the hard way. She had a small pack with basic survival equipment and a 9mm tucked into the back waistband of her pants. Still crouching, she stored her camera in the pack, slung it over her shoulder and pivoted on her balls of her feet to leave down the other side of the ridge, making no sounds, making no sudden movements.
As she turned, her gaze landed on the hollow-end of a .45ACP pistol-fixed serrated combat sights, hard anodized frame, ten-plus-one capacity...Army issue-pointed right at that sweet spot between her eyes. Corkie's heart stopped, restarted, and raced down the hillside without her. A man, clothed head to foot in military desert camouflage, crouched three feet behind her. He held that .45 like he'd been here before, comfortable on the other end of a brain sizzler and not the least bit fazed or concerned that she was female.
How long has he been there?
He raised a sun-darkened finger to his lips, that age-old symbol to be silent. Nodding her head with obedience, the only part of her body not frozen, Corkie carefully watched him, watching her.
Steel gray eyes stared back at her through the nylon mask covering most of his face. God, with this heat, he must be suffocating, Corkie thought, and then had to suppress of bubble of hysteria as it dawned on her that that was her next thought. Never mind that he had a gun to her head. Or that he could be a look-out for one of the murderous committee members down on in the airstrip. His garb and gun marked him as U.S. military, yet did that really matter? She'd been caught. Her very next thought was that her father sent him to get her.
Corkie felt a chill go down her spine. Her father. She loved her dear daddy, but if he knew she was in Mexico...here, so close to a miniature warzone...again...
Remembering the day a year ago in Syria when she nearly died for photographing a similar scene and that her daddy, Colonel Steven James Davenport, III, had to collect her from the hospital in Damascus.... He yelled at her in a rage for an entire hour-about her recklessness, her stubbornness, her stupidity, and yes, her continued defiance to get married-before he calmed down, hugged her tightly, cried like a baby, and thanked the Lord she was okay. Corkie had no desire to go through that again. Which was why she didn't tell any of her family she was here. That would be stupid.
She breathed out the air she'd been holding. Just stay calm. This man was pointing his gun at her. He wouldn't do that if Daddy sent him. Unless, Daddy told him to scare the crap out of her so she wouldn't be so careless next time, but even her maddening father wouldn't be so heartless...or would he?
Corkie watched as Camo Man stretched out his hand, palm up, fingers beckoning. Obviously wanting something. Corkie sighed heavily. Dang it, he'd been here long enough to spot her gun. She raised her left hand, pivoted her hip slightly toward him and removed her 9mm from the back of her pants as carefully and harmlessly as possible. Her fingers trembled with annoyance and anger, but the man had his own gun on her, and his hand wasn't shaking even the tiniest bit, so she'd be smart to do whatever he asked-within reason, of course. Corkie let her 9mm dangle from her thumb as she held it out to him. His gray eyes kept her prisoner in a cold gaze while he took it from her, tucking it into his own waistband. The whole situation seemed surreal. They could be exchanging auto insurance for all the emotion he showed. He held his hand out to her once again, after securing her gun in the back of his belt. But he wasn't asking for a stick of gum this time.
Corkie shook her head. Absolutely not!
The man pressed the barrel into her forehead ominously. And beckoned again...that cold stare turning colder. Corkie sighed-Fine!-and grimaced as she slid her fingers across his calloused palm, his skin heating hers beyond the warmth already created by the blistering sun. He tugged slowly, easily pulling her away from her hiding spot and down the backside of the ridge. Soon, he pushed her in front of his body, and he twisted one of her arms behind her back, pressed his gun barrel against the base of her neck and prodded her away from the explosions and gunfire as easily as if she were a child.
"Who are you?" she asked him, turning her head a bit to look at him. He prodded her along, never saying a word.
"What do you want?" she tried again. "Where are we going?"
He made no sound that he heard or cared.
The terrain was rocky and uneven, dotted with stubby plant life, and Corkie stumbled more times than she would have done on her own, praying his trigger finger wasn't very itchy. A truck flew out of the valley, fleeing the destruction by the airstrip, and her camouflaged captor pushed her to the ground behind another large boulder, hiding them until the area cleared. A rather boisterous explosion rocked the afternoon, sending a plume of thick smoke upward and showering the vicinity with sand and gravel. Corkie assumed the fuel tanks next to the rusted airplane hangar blew up. The man held her there, her body pressed into the rocky ground while he breathed heavily against her neck.
Five minutes passed...then only the sounds were of an inferno blazing on the other side of the hill.
He pushed her to her feet and turned them east. Crap, Corkie thought. Juan, her friend and Mexican contact, was waiting for her to the north. And if she didn't make it back to him by noon, then she'd miss her ride out of this desert until the next morning. That arrangement was for Juan's protection. A lone man hanging out beside a pickup truck in the middle of nowhere all day...well, who wouldn't be suspicious?
For almost two miles, they wove through the rocky desert, keeping to the shadows of boulders and cliff sides as much as possible. Her captor never lessened the hold on her arm, and she thought it wise to keep her mouth shut for now. Finally, he forced her between two large rock piles, completely hidden from the outside world.
With a shove, he let her go. Corkie stumbled a few steps and rubbed at her sore arm and shoulder, turning immediately to keep him in her sights. Where was his backup? Surely, he's not stupid enough to be out here alone.
Oh, wait...I'm alone.
But I'm not stupid...just crazy.
She paused and waited for him to say something, start an interrogation or make demands, but he didn't, just stared at her as he figuring out what to do with her. Corkie had a few ideas on that matter, but she knew he wouldn't go for any of them. She slipped her backpack off her shoulder, he raised his gun higher, right at her head, and beckoned with the other. Corkie huffed and tossed the bag to his feet.
"Can I have my water bottle, please?" she asked sweetly.
He assessed her for a moment, and then hunkered down as smoothly as a wild feline, the lines of his body bending and folding beautifully. Corkie cocked her head to the side to enjoy the scenery. Very nice. For a soldier.
The man unzipped her bag and quickly dug through it with his free hand, his gun and eyes never leaving her face. Suddenly he pitched her water toward her and resumed his blind search of the bag. Corkie uncapped the bottle and drank heavily. She winced as he discarded her camera to the side of his boot, sand dust billowing up and settling in the crooks and nannies of her three-thousand dollar livelihood. Then he dumped the contents of the bag. Corkie carried nothing of major importance in her bags, other than her camera, preferring to keep her passport and cash in a pouch strapped to her thigh inside her tan hiking pants.
Finally, the man rose to his feet, his muscular limbs unfolding lithely, and he jerked his gun at her, signaling for her to turn around. Corkie sighed and faced a large boulder, hands raised. She was hot and sweaty, her lightweight clothing getting that gritty, itchy feeling, and again, she wondered how he could bear to be covered in that heavy, military garb. He approached and began searching her person with deft pats to every curve of her body. Corkie smiled grimly as she endured this small invasion of her body.
"You know, usually I wait a few dates before going to second base with a guy."
He didn't reply. Removing everything from her pockets, he just dropped them to the ground, smashing her satellite phone under the heel of his boot, and the more he continued to pat around on her, the more she realized he had yet to find what he was looking for.
"Darn it," she muttered, when his hand slid into the neckline of her t-shirt and deftly plucked the SD card from the inside of her bra. His fingers didn't even hesitate or explore further than the small memory disk. He knew where to find it.
Inhaling a hot lungful of air, she clenched her jaw. She was going to have to start hiding those things better. A whole week of work lost in a matter of a few hours. Those photos would have paid her a pretty penny over the next couple of months. Leaking them out to the press a bit at a time, letting the news journalists investigate and delve into the real story, and then when the spit hit the fan, Corkie could sell her photographs to the highest bidder. But now...how was she going to get that card away from him?
Her host kept her pinned to the rock for several minutes more, only pressing a solid palm to her back. When he whipped her around to face him, the barrel of his .45 poked her in her stomach, and Corkie got a close-up of those gray eyes. Like cold steel on a January night. Frosty, hard, unforgiving. His face was still well covered, but she shifted his glance to his mouth, which was as immobile and unwavering as his gaze. She jerked when he tapped the inside of her thigh with his gun, on the money pouch strapped to her leg. His eyes never moved from her face. She groaned as she realized what he wanted.
"Come on, give a girl a break," she said, staring right at him. "I'll have pull my pants all the way down to my knees to get that off."
He tapped her again.
"Fine," she huffed, "but you owe me dinner after this. I don't take my clothes off for someone I just met."
There, for just a flash of a second, she thought she spied a smile in his gaze, but his mouth didn't change, so she couldn't be for sure. Corkie tipped a crooked grin at him as she unbuttoned her pants and pushed them down to her knees. She kept her eyes locked onto his as she unfastened the velcro strip around her thigh and removed the black nylon pouch. He took it from her, stepped back a few paces and lowered his gun. Keeping the weapon pointed in her vicinity, he zipped open the pouch and pulled out her passport, ignoring the fold of money. The only time he flicked his eyes away from her was when he glanced down briefly to read her name on her passport. Then he stuffed it back into the pouch and dropped it onto her backpack. Corkie stood there, her hands anchored on her hips with herself still exposed to him and her eyebrows raised for permission to dress again. At least, I've got on my good underwear, she amused herself. He waved his .45 at her, and she jerked her pants back up, fastening them again.
"Aww...done already?" she mocked him as she quickly packed up her camera and bag, slinging it over her shoulder. "Well, I'll be honest with you. This has been the longest, most meaningful relationship I've had in three years."
He backed away to the opening of the crevice, and Corkie panicked. Where did he stash her camera card? She looked at all the pockets on his clothing and groaned as she realized it'd take her forever to search them all. She couldn't go home without it. She needed it.
The man watched every move she made, carefully studying her actions and how she bravely faced him. The next time he took his eyes off her was when he glanced at his watch. Then he gazed back at her, sighed heavily, and stored his gun in his holster. Corkie saw her chance.
Without warning, she threw her bag at him, smacking him right in the face. He reached for his gun again, but she was already on him. A kick to his knee sent him down, her own knee to his nose sent him back, but he recovered quickly, freeing his pistol and raising it. Corkie grabbed it before his aim completed, kicked his chest, and knocked him upside the head with the grip of his pistol. He crumbled. All in all, she barely took three breaths through it.
God bless those self-defense classes!
Now, she panted, her adrenaline spiking, but she couldn't stay here and ask more questions. With a flick of deft fingers, she removed the .45's magazine, emptied the chamber, and tossed the bulletless gun to one end of the narrow opening and the clip other. Quickly, she patted him over the same way he violated her. But she didn't find her SD card. Corkie bit off a rueful scream. The man moaned and moved, and Corkie figured him to be someone who would retaliate, and not kindly. Other than boxing him on the head again and possibly giving him brain damage, she had no way to safely subdue him long enough to go through all his garb and gear.
"Dang you!" she said, kicking sand at him. She had some pictures stored on her camera. They would have to do. Grabbing her 9mm from his belt and her bag from the sand, she took off at a dead run.
*****
Lieutenant Alex Spears shook off the pain in his head and watched the woman-Cortney Brooks, according to her passport-as she ran out into the sun. Her blonde hair, pulled up into a messy knot on top of her head, shimmered in the afternoon rays. "Sonofabitch," he moaned and pushed to his feet.
The last time he lost a fight...hell, that wasn't a fight, he thought darkly. That mere slip of a woman dropped him like a sack of potatoes, and those moves screamed military training. She moved like a freaking leopard, just a flash of kicks and punches, and he never saw any of it coming.
"Observe and report back," his commander said. "Do not get involved."
"Shit," Alex grumbled, staggering around the small area. He only wanted to protect her from those murdering bastards and get information out of her.
For the first time in six years, Hibram Espinoza had come out into the open. No one, outside of a secret military base in Durango, knew that the Mexican crime boss was heading toward a small, abandoned airport in the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert. Alex, as part of a cooperative task force between Mexico and the United States to help take down drug lords, volunteered to be a solo scout to gather intel. He also had a personal reason for going after Espinoza...the man was responsible for the death of Alex's father many years ago.
But no one, especially Alex, who had been an Army Ranger for eight years, expected to see a slender blonde woman hiding behind a boulder with a camera in her hands. She was good, Alex had to admit that. He almost missed her there, her tan clothing hiding her just as well as his desert camo. Silently, he snuck up behind her, waiting for her to finish her picture taking, and get her away from the death below as quickly and as quietly as possible. Alex had no desire to hurt her, unless she tried to kill him, but the whole time he guided her away, she behaved herself.
And then he let his guard down at the wrong moment.
Honestly, he couldn't tell if she was scared out of her wits or not. Any other woman would have started screaming as soon as she saw him with his gun pointed at her head. But not that one. Her indigo blue eyes widened, and Alex had to take a moment to appreciate her. Blonde-haired, blue-eyed women were also not in abundance in the countries he normally worked. Just seeing her made him feel a little homesick, but he was here for a job, and she interfered with that job. She had pictures of the meeting between Espinoza and a handful of world dignitaries. And Alex couldn't allow her to leave with them. He quickly checked the clasp of his belt and discovered the camera card still lodged into the small recess there. A long, relieved breath left him, but he couldn't let the woman get away. She was a danger to his mission.
Alex located his .45, cursed again while searching for the clip and scrambled after her. She wasn't an easy prey to catch. Following her tracks for half a mile, he spotted her trotting along a dry river bed, heading north, but he kept his distance. She had her 9mm back, and after that beating he took, he wasn't about to assume she wouldn't shoot if she saw him again. For now, she had the upper hand, and for several miles, he crept along, keeping her just in his sights. Her jog never slowed. Alex observed the way she carried herself. A steady pace. Continuous, never missing a measured beat. A gait determined by hours of endurance and miles and miles of endless running. The daily aerobic workout for any soldier.
Was she Intelligence? CIA?
She wasn't part of his unit, and if another government entity had their hands in this mission, then Alex was going to raise hell. He didn't like surprises. Who the hell does she work for? God, if she's an independent...a goddamn journalist...Alex didn't want to think about it.
When she veered north-east, heading away from the river and disappearing behind a large cluster of rocks, Alex tripped over himself to catch up. He found her again on a nearby, lone dirt road next to a small, red pickup truck as she briefly hugged a man in dusty denims...then she hopped into that truck and the two sped off.
"Goddammit," Alex mumbled. He scrambled down a rocky slope in hopes of picking up the truck's trail. If he let that photographer get away...
*****
"Who is the hombre following you, Corkie?"
Corkie adjusted the side mirror outside her window. A speck of movement behind them was her only indication that her captor was still back there. "He's a thief and a nuisance," she told Juan. "Just lose him."
Juan never missed oddities to his surroundings, even a camouflaged man in the distance. He glanced at Corkie, his dark eyes displeased, and pushed on the gas pedal. The two of them flew along the road, dust billowing behind them. Corkie could no longer see Camo Man behind them, but she had a feeling he was still back there. If he was stupid enough to follow them all the way back to Juan's village, then he deserved what Juan would do to him. Juan didn't like strange men coming to his home, and his wife, Ana, could be positively hostile about it.
"What happened?" Juan demanded during the drive. Corkie glanced away from the window and grimaced at Juan's tone.
"My man was there, Juan, at the airstrip. Sultanovich."
"So, he is not dead," Juan mused.
"Nope...oh, and you'll never guess who else was there," she said. "Hibram Espinoza."
Juan's eyebrows rose. "Are you sure?" he inquired softly.
"Yes," Corkie answered, digging out her water bottle again. She told him everything that happened that day, the gunfight, the V.I.P.s, the plane, Camo Man taking her away, and how she escaped.
Her friend stared off into the distance. "I will have to alert Enrique."
"I didn't realize el Presidente was still talking to you."
Juan gave her a dry smile. "He isn't...but he does listen from time to time. We will need proof that Espinoza is out in the open again."
"The man following me took my camera card," she sighed. "I have some pictures on the camera's internal, but I'm not sure if Espinoza is in any of them."
"Then we will need the man who took your photos," Juan said, slowing down and stopping in the middle of the road..
Corkie looked behind them. "What are you doing?"
"It would be easier if we killed him here and be done with it." He sounded serious.
She groaned. She loved Juan like a dear uncle, she really did, but sometimes he was just too severe. "Juan, you can't kill him.
"He put a gun to your head, nińa. That is reason."
"And you wonder why el Presidente doesn't talk to you anymore."
Juan winked at her. "No, I know why my cousin no longer converses with me...I stole Ana from him."
"Yes, well, we still can't kill Camo Man," Corkie explained. "Everything about him screamed military operative...killing him would only bring a whole bushel of trouble both our ways, and would really make Daddy mad. I don't like that he took my pictures, but I won't kill someone for them. Besides, if the American military is scoping out Hibram Espinoza, then Enrique will know about it, too."
Juan thought for a moment. "If he follows you, nińa, then he must have reason. He already has your photos. What does he want with you? Do you think he is your papa's?"
"You mean that Daddy knows where I am and sent one of his grunts to come get me?" she asked, and Juan nodded.
"Your papa warned you not to come into Mexico," he said.
"Daddy tells me not to go anywhere," she said, frowning. "He's impossible. But no, I don't think Daddy sent him. Your house would have been the first place he looked, and if he is following Daddy's orders, he can find me there."
"If this man comes to my village and points a gun at my family," Juan said, "I will shoot him, nińa."
Corkie laughed. "Let us hope he is not that stupid."
(CRAZY ENOUGH has been chosen as a TOP 10 finalist in Harlequin's SYTYCW contest. Vote for my story at: http://www.soyouthinkyoucanwrite.com/crazy-enough/ Thank you everyone!)