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Gator stared into the stone chamber where shredded bedding and a busted voice recorder on a stand greeted his barrage of gunfire. A lantern swung dangerously on a hook, miraculously intact, but then, he'd been aiming chest-high for a seated or standing person. Instead, he got nothing but a ear-ringing headache from the sound of the shots in the confined space. One damaged bat sprawled in a smear across the stone floor, the only casualty of their raid.
"He must've left the curtain open, light on, to get all those bugs and bats," Monty observed.
Gator cast him a glare. "So where is he now?"
Yelling broke the night at their six. High-pitched shouts of fear, followed by cursing, followed by more gunshots. Smitty's unmistakable voice sang out in pain. By that time, Gator was already moving, jogging back in the direction of the truck, hearing Monty hustle along behind him. How had he been out-witted by an idiot like Nigel Rowe? Ambushed by insects while the guy slipped away—now what? Sounded like Rowe managed to upset the boys at the truck as well. Damn. Given the gunshots, maybe Rowe would be done for by the time Gator arrived. If not, he was looking forward to beating the crap out of him.
Been a while since Gator had to double-time through desert soil. The combination of sand and gravel sucked at his feet, giving him flashbacks to some truly miserable times.
Finally, they burst out of the confining walls of the gully back to the open patch by the street. Broad strokes of man-made light stretched toward him across the ground. The truck sat there, doors wide open. Flick stood braced and staring inside, pistol in hand, while Smitty doubled over nearly twenty yards away, clutching his stomach and spitting the same cuss word over and over.
"Sitrep! What's going on?" Gator raked the scene with his glare, spotting the open cover of the truck bed where the woman used to be.
Flick pivoted and straightened, his expression tight. "Rowe showed up after you left. We were making casual, gonna keep him talking til you got back."
"The way he talks, that shouldn't be hard," Monty said. He shouldered his weapon and moved to Smitty. "You okay? Where're you hit?"
"He didn't have a gun, he had a basket," Flick continued. "Said he'd 'cooked up something' he wanted to share."
Gator's eyebrows rose. "And that didn't make you suspicious?"
"He's a good cook." Flick glowered. "He's so frickin' guileless, no I wasn't suspicious! Then he just tossed the basket through the window and ran. Smitty caught it—"
"Idiot."
Smitty swayed and cursed, pushing himself erect. "Basket full of scorpions. What the hell? Who does that shit to somebody?" He scrubbed his face with the back of his hand, wiping away tears or sweat, maybe both. "I got stung, four or five times. Jeez Flick, how'd you avoid it?'
"I didn't." Flick displayed his left forearm, with a red mound visibly swollen around a darker center. Purple bruising spread from the site. "I have a high pain tolerance." One corner of his mouth hitched up. "I'm gonna find out if Rowe does."
"That was a mean, mean trick." Smitty pulled up his shirt. On his dark skin, the marks were harder to make out, but the rising light level showed a couple of dark, bloody-looking spots with puffy mounds spreading practically as he watched. "Can't believe he had it in him. We sang 'Kumbaya' together!"
Monty's lips puckered like he was trying not to laugh.
Gator strode toward the back, tossing the vinyl aside, revealing the empty space he expected to find. Looked like the explosives and everything else were intact, though. They must've been moving fast. "Guess your girlfriend's on the loose, Monty. Probably be gunning for you."
"Occupational hazard of being the good-looking one." Monty's grin looked a little crooked, like he hadn't decided how to feel about all this.
"Where'd they go?" Gator pivoted, scanning the area around them. The road in both directions looked empty. Long rocky piers showed where the gully system continued on the other side.
"Hell if I know! I was busy with the bugs." Smitty's voice wheezed, but he stomped over to join Gator.
"They still in there?" Monty peered toward the truck, then turned on a tactical flashlight, and jumped back. Gator took that as confirmation.
"They crossed, I'm pretty sure. Smitty's cussing and shooting distracted me. Sorry, boss."
"Right. Flick and me are going after them. Monty and Smitty, clear the vehicle, keep channels open. They know we're out here, loaded for bear, no point in stealth if it cripples our communication." Gator started toward the road. Flick grabbed a rifle from the rack and hustle to catch up.
"How come I have to—"
"Man up, Smitty! Just a bunch of bugs. I don't care if you have to eat the damn things, just get in the truck!" In the middle of the street, Gator glanced back. "But don't fry 'em with your lighter. I don't want the truck going up in smoke before we find that wreck."
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