Page 52 of Vaquero
At that moment, the randy boy in his pants decided there was no pain too big that it couldn’t rise to attention. Damned adrenaline turned even the most conscientious operator—and Julio prided himself on being that guy—into a mindless, horny bastard.
Hotrod clapped his hands sharply, just once, for attention. “You mean to tell me that you nailed two targets with one bloody shot, Juarez? You shot a no-kidding, once in a lifetime two-fer? No shit?”
Closing his eyes against the out-of-control need raging through his body like a wildfire, Julio shrugged like what he’d done was no big deal. “Oz had to die,” he managed to say, though his voice was uncommonly deep and hoarse all of a sudden. “So did his friends. I just did my job.”
Meg shook her head at him, her gaze incredibly soft. “Your job was to come back to me alive, tough guy. Did you forget?”
“No. I remember.” Julio gave her that one. He had made a promise, hadn’t he?
A big, wide grin cracked Hotrod’s face. “Way to go, Juarez!” he declared as he leaned over and high-fived Julio. “Always heard of guys making shots like that. Never met anyone who’d done it, though. Good on you!”
“Sir,” he murmured, trying desperately to cover the bulge straining like a beast beneath his zipper with a casually placed hand. So what if it still held his rifle? There wasn’t any other way he could be discreet. “I don’t mean to interfere with your mission, but those soldiers will be back, and they’ll bring reinforcements. You may not have enough time to diffuse the warheads before they return.”
Hotrod’s gaze cut to the pit below where Charlie Brown and Doctor Hazelton now had one ICBM panel open. “Got to,” he growled, then leaned into his mic and asked, “Any idea how long this’ll take, Jorgensen? Agent Juarez says those guys will be back, and you two are sitting pretty for an ambush.”
A terse “Leave us the fuck alone!” came back loud and clear over Hotrod’s earpiece.
“Then step on it. I’m just one guy up here, and no other cavalry’s coming to save your ornery ass this time.”
Julio exhaled a steadying breath, his nervous system fully aware of his wounds now. “I will help. I stockpiled Oz’s ammo. It’s nearby, and there are trees around it that’ll give us the upper hand when the soldiers return. It’s possible we can hold them off until those warheads are disarmed.”
Meg’s head bobbed. “Can you believe everything he had? It was like a Wal-Mart-sized ammo dump down there.” She turned to Hotrod then. “And what’s this ‘just one guy’ crap? Seems to me you had some help routing those creeps before. And you…” She turned on Julio. “You can’t climb trees. You’re injured. You need rest.”
Hotrod swallowed hard, the cords in his neck tight. “Great. Three snipers against a fuckin’ army. You two do know we can only fire one round at a time, don’t you?” He made that sound like they were stupid. Which they probably were. Three against an army? Not smart.
“But we can delay them,” Julio replied evenly. He’d been involved in enough dead-end causes in his life to know there was always the chance of something breaking loose in the middle of mayhem. No outcome was ever set in stone. Anything could happen, even in the worst of times. Which brought that foolish plan of walking into the Pacific to please his dead wife back to mind. If he’d done that, he wouldn’t have met Dominic. Or Meg. Or the cocky guy with her.
Something about Hotrod irked Julio. He knew this man from somewhere else. Julio recognized him. Almost. Hotrod was one of those faces. His manner of speech, the inflection in his voice, was familiar. Julio just didn’t have time to study the wheres or hows in the middle of yet another battle.
He wiped a quick hand over his brow. First, Oz. Then, those sixteen outlaws. The Dolls. Another band of guerilla fighters, all in the space of twenty-four hours. Or less. Not to mention backpacking all that weaponry out of the pit. Jesus, he was past the point of total exhaustion, moving into that brain-numbing twilight zone where he lost mental acuity and focus. Where he could get himself and everyone with him—dead.
Whatever happened next, it had to go down fast. Before he did.
Julio turned to Meg. “Thank you for caring for me, but I’ve been hurt worse before, and we have a job we must finish now. Let’s give the doctor as much time as we can. That is why we were made. That is why we are here.”
To prove he was still mobile, he climbed awkwardly to his feet without assistance.Madre de Dios!It hurt, but he gritted his teeth and breathed through it, blinking back the pain. Meg didn’t need to see that.
Hotrod lifted his chin at Julio even as Meg leaned into his uninjured arm, voicing her unspoken solidarity with him.Dios!But that sweet, simple contact nearly did Julio in. She seemed to fit tucked into his side like she was. His good arm ached to curl around her shoulders, to pull her more tightly against his other side. But a display like that would send the wrong message. Meg was all woman. She’d think they stood a chance in hell of surviving, when he doubted they’d live to see another sunrise. Those soldiers would be back, and when they came, they’d bring more vehicles and more firepower. It was unfortunate she was here. Julio truly regretted that. But time was wasting.
Hotrod waved Julio forward. “Fine. Move out, then. Take us to your camp. At least we can get to higher ground before those bastards show.”
Julio nodded. There was nothing else to say. Hotrod’s unspoken message was quite clear.
And then, we’ll die trying…
