Black Ops Chronicles: Dead Run by Pepper O'Neal Read Free Book Online Page A

and despair pummeled her. “And thanks for everything you’ve done for me, Karl. I’d be dead if not for you.”
    “You’re a friend, Tess, and I’m happy to do what I can. I just wish I could do more.”
    Through the open doorway, she saw the blue Jeep pull up across the street. She watched it with growing apprehension. Four men got out and swaggered toward the market. Caucasians in fancy suits. Big, muscular, and scowling, they looked more like thugs than tourists .
    And Nick knew she was in Baja.
    Had these men seen her when they drove by? They must have.
    “Shit,” she muttered.
    “What?” Karl asked.
    “I have to go.” She hung up and looked around for the nearest exit. But there was no back door. Trapped.
    “ Shit !”

 
    CHAPTER 3
     
     
    Cornered, Tess searched for a hiding place. The bathroom? She tried the door. Locked. “Shit,” she muttered again. “Shit, shit, shit !”
    Clutching her stomach, she crossed her legs and explained in broken Spanish that she had an “emergency,” hoping the clerk would assume she’d had a sudden attack of diarrhea—hardly uncommon among gringos. It worked. Eyes wide with alarm, the old woman grabbed a key from under the counter and shoved it at her. Tess snatched it, unlocked the door, and ducked inside the bathroom a heartbeat before the four men came through the market door.
    Her pulse thundered in her ears and her stomach threatened to rebel as her system reeled from the overwhelming surge of adrenalin. Fighting off the nausea, she watched through a narrow crack between two boards in the bathroom door as one of the men questioned the old woman while she fiddled nervously with the phone. His voice echoed in the tiny store, but although Tess heard what he said, it did her no good. He spoke in smooth, rapid Spanish—too fast for her to understand the conversation.
    The other three ruffians said nothing, just stood behind their spokesman like monoliths, hulking and mute. Only their eyes moved, shooting quick, wary glances that skimmed over the shelves and probed the shadows. With their lips curled in disgust, they didn’t look enchanted with the market.
    None of the four men made any threatening moves that Tess could see. Not that they needed to. Their size, build, and attitude sent a clear, intimidating signal, and the clerk’s wide, transfixed eyes said she understood. Whatever they asked, she’d tell. When she pointed toward the bathroom, Tess cringed but understood the woman had no choice.
    The spokesman headed over. Tess knew the flimsy wooden door couldn’t stop a brute that big. Her breath clogged in her throat as she scanned the room. No way out . The one tiny window—six feet off the ground and twelve inches square—was intended for ventilation, not escape.
    A cold fist closed over her heart, chilling her blood to ice. No ! She couldn’t afford to panic. If she did, she’d die. Taking a deep breath, and a vicious grip on her self-control, she pulled out her revolver, cocked it, and held it ready. If the asshole broke down the door, she’d give him a lesson in manners—one he couldn’t misunderstand.
    When he stopped by the telephone and picked up the receiver, she felt like an idiot. God, get a grip, will you ? They’ve just come in to use the phone . Closing her eyes as relief swamped her, she sagged against the wall.
    Weak-kneed and drained, she released the breath she’d been holding and rested her head on the rough wooden planks. Although the man stood just on the other side of the thin barrier, and his conversation was in English this time, she didn’t learn much.
    He started with a terse, “It’s Joe, but this line ain’t secure.” Next came a defensive, “No, we lost the satellite phone. I’m calling from the public one in the market.” A pause. “Not sure. Last time I had it was when we took Almasi’s guys out on the boat during a big storm yesterday. I know you’d rather we didn’t use the boat, but we had to take care