Page 94 of Vaquero
Chapter Thirty-Eight
Touchdown! Meg could’ve squealed with delight when the helo’s skids landed at a private airport outside Ouro Preto.
“We’re back!” Craig sing-songed cheerily to the kids.
Maria clapped. They were all as excited as Meg. She just hadn’t expected the welcoming committee lined up just outside the only hangar on the strip. Stuffy and officially dressed in business suits, they looked like…
“Who are those men?” Meg asked to be sure.
Craig shrugged, but the Navy pilot spoke right up. “They’re from the local Council of Guardianship, Brazil’s version of child protective services, ma’am. They’re here to ensure these kids are adoptable and that they get placed in proper care.”
“But Captain Dooley said Marta and me—”
The pilot interrupted Craig with, “Yes, but you’re not Marta and Craig Brunner, are you?”
Oh, shit. Dooley knew. He must’ve discovered Marta.
Meg’s heart crashed to the floor. She clutched sleeping Dom to her heart. “But Dooley knows I’m going to adopt as many of these kids as I can.”
The pilot nodded. “And these people are here to facilitate that process, ma’am. Trust Dooley. He’s on your side.”
Didn’t feel like it.
One of those official-looking men marched straightway toward the helo. Dressed in a gray linen suit, white dress shirt, and shiny black dress shoes, he ducked under the still spinning rotors, but reached the door just as Dooley’s pilot kicked the latch, slid it open, and called, “Ola!”
“Ola,” the man returned grumpily.
Meg just sat there, unprepared for whatever might happen next. This was supposed to have been a trip home. She hadn’t geared up like she normally would have. There was no Beretta in her back holster. No ammo in her gear bag. Only animal crackers, wet wipes, and—hope.
The man peered inside as he counted, “Uma. Dois. Três…” like some unfeeling, ignorant Portuguese robot. No smiles for the kids. No treats to make this separation go easier and no welcome home. Nothing. Tall and skinny with dark hair and bushy brows, he hadn’t even introduced himself or looked one of these kids in the eye yet. He didn’t care about them. Like so many people in the world today, he was just doing his job.
“No,” Meg said, that thing in her neck called a spine as stiff as stegosaurus plates but quivering with rage. “This is not right,” she declared, her grip firm around Dominic. “You can’t just show up without announcement and take these kids like they’re nothing. They’re mine.”
Like most Brazilian men who knew better than any female on earth, this guy dismissed her without even a second glance. Or one word of respect.
That pissed Meg off. She stood, her shoulders squared as she stepped between him and her kids. “I am officially adopting these children. All of them. That’s the only reason I came back with them. You can’t have them.”
“Now, Meg…” Craig started to say.
She let him have it, too. “No, Craig! This is not going to happen. I don’t just hand over my children to some guy who doesn’t have the decency to treat me or them like people!” Then she turned on the pilot and ordered, “Get Dooley on the comm. Do it! He knows what I’m talking about. He’s the one who made the deal with this… this jerk!”
The pilot actually obeyed, which did nothing to slow the panic attack creeping up Meg’s hackles. These disinterested, uncaring guys actually meant to take her kids. Right now. Without so much as looking at them or treating them like the precious children they were. God, she was so—
BOOM!
Meg fell back into her seat at the same time Mr. Council of Guardianship’s head exploded. My Hell! Someone had just shot him. The right side of his head was gone. Blood and brains and—
Craig slammed the door closed while the rest of the welcoming committee screamed and ran to the hangar for their lives. The cowards! They’d left these innocent children behind!
The pilot scrambled to get the helo off the ground. The rotors whined as they powered up. Another bullet spider-webbed the side window.
“Go, go, go!” Meg urged both pilot and helicopter.
Had to be Brazilian homegrown guerillas out there shooting, come to make a name for themselves by taking a US Navy helo down. That’s what this was. A local militia takedown.
“Get this bird in the sky!” she shrieked at the pilot, who already had the rotors working overtime. “Faster!” she ordered as the skids hovered precarious inches above the ground. “The kids! We’ve got to save the kids!”
Another BOOM. Then another. The helo shuddered, then dropped back to the tarmac.
