The Trouble With Tigers Read online

  “We do, but first I’m getting my mother to a safe location.”

  “I’m not leaving you with those two hooligans,” Mom protested.

  “The hooligan and I made a pact. He helps me rescue Karma and I help him relocate his tigers.”

  Mom scowled. “Where you go, I go.”

  “You know dad has a tendency to shoot people when he’s upset.”

  “I almost broke him of that habit too. He knows how much I hate it when he comes home covered in blood,” mom sighed.

  Samson and Dick exchanged uneasy glances.

  “Dad needs to know we’re both okay and I need you to keep him from doing anything stupid. Okay?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “You also don’t like flying and we’ll be doing a lot of that,” I stated.

  “Fine, but I expect you to check in daily.”

  I put a hand to my heart. “Promise.”

  “You can drop me off at St. Anne’s Convent in Tucson. Your father will know I’m safe and Sister Mary and I can catch up.” Mom glared at Samson. “Well, what are you waiting for?”

  With a wince, Samson slowly straightened. “Ladies, your chariot awaits.” He opened the door and gestured politely to the white van.

  Mom trotted over to the van, climbed onto the front seat and started messing with the radio.

  Grinning like a loon, I slid in the back. This was gonna be fun.

  Samson got in and started the engine.

  “Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho. Ho,” blared from the speakers.

  “Oh, hell no,” Samson growled and turned off the radio.

  Mom turned it back on.

  “Stop it, you crazy bitch.” Samson switched the radio off and stomped on the gas. The van fishtailed wildly as it shot out of the hangar.

  On.

  Off.

  “Naughty boys don’t get Christmas cookies.” Mom turned the radio back on.

  Tuning them out, I surveyed the rows of mothballed aircraft that seemed to stretch out forever. I had been to Wagon Wheel Airpark a couple of times and was amazed to discover there were over a thousand aircraft stored here. Being the larcenous type, Harry had appropriated an old DC 10 cargo plane for his own use.

  A gunshot rang out.

  I jumped about a foot.

  Wisps of smoke rose from what was left of the radio.

  “You start singing again and I’m shooting your daughter,” Samson snapped, holstering his gun.

  Mom huffed, “You must worship that devil Krampus.”

  “Who?”

  “Bad Santa,” I interjected.

  Samson scrubbed a hand over his beard. “I thought your dad was bad Santa?”

  “I suggest you treat my mother as a priceless treasure, or you’ll find out how bad my dad can be.”

  “Your dad doesn’t frighten me,” Samson retorted.

  Mom patted his leg. “I’ll make sure they put that on your tombstone, sweetie.”

  “Your entire family is fucking nuts,” Samson groused.

  “And yet you decided to mess with us.” I glanced at the speedometer. Samson was doing a hundred in a forty-mile zone. I gave him five minutes before a cop pulled him over.

  Sure enough, a short time later, strobing red and blue lights filled the side mirrors.

  “Fuck! Say one word to the cop and I’ll shoot him dead,” Samson barked.

  I believed him.

  Mom shot me an anxious look.

  I put a finger to my lips. “Sssh.”

  Samson pulled over to the side of the road and watched the motorcycle cop walk up to the driver’s side window.

  Mom waved all friendly like at him.

  Samson lowered the glass.

  “Driver’s license and registration please,” the cop said.

  “Yes, sir.” In a move almost too quick for the eye to follow, Samson punched the officer in the face, dropping him like a rock. “Stay in the car.”

  “Okay, but if you hurt that cop, the deals off.”

  “Is it?”

  Every muscle in my body tensed at the unguarded violence in Samson’s face. “Yes.”

  A faint smile touched Samson’s mouth. “Okay.” He pulled his Glock. Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! Bam! The police motorcycle was now a pile of scrap metal. Samson disarmed the cop and smashed the police radio into itty-bitty pieces with the heel of his boot. “Happy?”

  “Don’t forget his cellphone, Deadeye.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Samson jerked it off the cop’s gun belt and hurled it out in the desert. “All good?”

  “All good.” For once mom had the good sense not to say a word.

  Samson got back in the van and followed the posted speed signs all the way to Tucson.

  Chapter Twelve

  I watched mom walk into the convent with a lump in my throat. Pakistan was a dangerous place and the chances of me coming back in one piece weren’t good. If I became too much of a liability Samson would either ditch me or give me to the warlord.

  “Get in the van,” Samson ordered.

  I gave him the one-finger salute. “Do not bellow at me unless you want creepy crawlies invading your bed or a bullet in your other foot.”

  Samson’s expression was one of implacable resolve. “You want to save that tiger or not?”

  I sighed. I couldn’t let Karma get slaughtered by some dumbass trophy hunter. “I do.”

  “Then get your ass in the van.”

  I got in.

  “I’m using the company’s jet to get us to Chico, Texas. My team will be standing by to help us liberate Karma.”

  I glared at Samson. “You bugged my office.”

  “Yep.”

  And by the smirk on his face, damn proud of it. “Is Harry meeting us in Texas?”

  “No.”

  A cold thread of horror snaked up my back. “Oh, God, you didn’t kill him, did you?”

  Samson slanted me a disbelieving look. “He’s my brother.”

  “Would that stop you?”

  “I would never kill Harry. He’s the only family I have left.”

  “So, where is he? Cause he’s not here nor was he at the hangar. Come to think of it, neither was Tom.”

  “Let’s just say they’re tied up at the moment,” Samson said.

  “They tried to stop you, didn’t they?”

  “They did.”

  “And you couldn’t allow that?”

  “No. This op is crucial to prevent a terrorist attack.”

  I raised my eyebrows in disbelief. “Stealing some tigers will stop a terrorist attack?”

  “Yes.”

  “Seriously? These big, bad terrorists are gonna sic them on people at a shopping mall or let them loose in a movie theater?”

  “The tigers are the key to getting the location of a stolen Russian missile. A rocket capable of delivering a nuclear warhead.” Samson stated grimly.

  “Shit!”

  “Exactly. The tigers were stolen from a Pakistani warlord known as the Hawk. He wants them back quite badly. Our mission is to liberate them from Akbar Mehsud, a rival warlord.”

  Fear knotted my stomach. Nuclear weapons? Terrorists? What had I gotten myself into? “Once we retrieve the Hawk’s tigers, he’ll give you the location of the missile?”

  “That’s the plan,” Samson said.

  “Warlords aren’t exactly trustworthy. What’s to keep him from shooting you?”

  “You.”

  I squawked, “Me?”

  “The Hawk’s compound is situated over a large Deathstalker scorpion nest. If the mission goes south, you sic’ em on the warlord’s soldiers.”

  “Uh huh. That’s the best ya got? Cause it’s a sucky plan.”

  “There’s also a large population of King Cobras you can use.”

  “Just so you know. Being shot at messes with my concentration.”

  “Fail and you c
ome home in a body bag,” Samson declared.

  “Gee, I’ve always dreamed of being a superhero and saving the world. Except I can’t bend steel with my bare hands. Nor can I leap a tall building in a single bound and last, but not least, I’m not faster than a speeding bullet.”

  Samson shot me a hostile glare. “As long as you do what I tell you, you’ll make it home alive.”

  “Oh, yippee! Do I get a cool uniform too?”

  “How would you like to be gagged?” A muscle in Samson’s cheek jerked.

  “I wouldn’t.”

  “Then shut the fuck up.”

  “Yes, sir.” I felt a tickling sensation in my head. Someone was trying to communicate with me. Wrapping a hand around my crystal amulet, I reached out mentally. “Miranda?”

  Miranda linked with me. “Why haven’t you contacted me?”

  “I was unconscious and now I’m dealing with a gun-toting maniac.”

  “The police put an amber alert out on you.”

  “Okay, but I’m not a kid.”

  There was a touch of exasperation in Miranda’s voice. “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah, an all-points bulletin.”

  “The first question I’m supposed to ask is, do you know where you are?”

  “Tucson. Are Dutch and my dad okay?”

  “Yes, we’re all at the police station. Is your mother with you?”

  “No. I negotiated a deal with Samson and he just dropped her off at St. Anne’s Convent. Please tell my father she wasn’t harmed.”

  Through my psychic connection with Miranda I could dimly hear the angry voices of Jana, Dad and Dutch. I smiled when Tinkerbell added her two cents.

  “Dutch wants to know if you’re still with your kidnappers?”

  “I am.” Some of my anxiety eased. Dutch and my dad were on the hunt and boy did I need their help.

  Samson eyed me suspiciously. “What are you smiling about?”

  I kept smiling and didn’t say a word.

  “Answer the question, dammit!”

  “Oh, now you want me to talk?”

  Samson growled, “Are you deliberately trying to piss me off?”

  “Well, you know how us women are. We get confused easily. First you tell me to shut the fuck up or you will gag me. Now you want me to talk. Which is it?”

  “Talk. Why are you smiling?”

  “I was thinking how pleased Stephanie will be when we rescue Karma,” I fibbed.

  “You’re a bad liar.” Samson held out his hand. “Give me the crystal.”

  I tightened my grip on it. “No. I need it.”

  “To tell your psychic friend where we are?”

  “I use it as a power boost and to communicate with the dead,” I replied evasively.

  Samson pulled into a parking lot and slammed on the brakes. “Give me the fucking necklace or I’ll take it from you.”

  “I’ll need it if I’m going to control twelve white tigers.”

  “You’ll get it back when we’re out of U.S. airspace. Now hand it over.”

  “Samson knows about my amulet Miranda and he’s taking it from me.”

  “Do you have your backup crystal?”

  “I do.”

  “Be careful.”

  “Count on it. Tell Dutch to find Harry.” I removed my necklace and placed it on Samson’s palm. “Don’t lose it.”

  “I won’t.” Samson dropped it in his shirt pocket and pulled back out into traffic.

  A patrol car with its lights flashing roared by us.

  “What did you tell them?” The menace in Samson’s voice made the hair-on-the-back-of-my-neck stand up.

  Eyeing him warily, I eased closer to the door. “Nothing.”

  “Tell me the truth or Karma’s one dead kitty.”

  “I told Miranda where I was.”

  “And.”

  “You hadn’t hurt my mother.”

  “What else?”

  “That’s it.”

  Samson gave me a narrow sidelong glance.

  “It’s the truth. I didn’t have enough time to tell them more.”

  “If they try to stop me, I’ll be forced to kill them,” Samson warned.

  I snorted. “The only one dying will be you.”

  “I’m good at what I do.”

  “So are they.” Crossing my arms, I stared out the window.

  “I’m surprised the Gambino family didn’t send a hitman after your father,” Samson commented a short time later.

  “They did.”

  Samson mulled that over for a bit, then asked, “How many?”

  “Eight of their best.”

  “Your father killed them all?” There was a touch of disbelief in Samson’s voice.

  “He did. When dad took out Sam “The Cadillac” Solonik, Salvatore decided it was time to declare a truce.”

  Samson chuckled. “I bet it was right after the FBI raided his compound.”

  “My father’s excellent at tactical strategy.” The knot in my stomach got bigger when the van turned into a private airfield.

  “What do you know about your boyfriend’s military background?”

  I let out a theatrical gasp. “You’re a CIA spook with access to all sorts of databases and you don’t know?”

  “The records are sealed.”

  I shrugged. “Dutch was a Marine who served his country honorably.”

  “And?” Samson prompted.

  “Haven’t a clue. Why don’t you call and ask him?”

  “How does Harry keep from beating you?”

  “Your brother values my abilities and friendship.”

  “My brother’s a fool.” Samson brought the van to a stop next to a newer model Learjet. Two heavily armed men wearing camouflage uniforms walked out of a hanger. One was built like a tank and kept fingering his gun like he really wanted to shoot someone. The other man could be a poster boy for the Marines. Chiseled features, hard body and killer stare.

  “Where’s the rest of your team?”

  “In Chico, Texas. Get on the plane.”

  I saluted him. “Yes, sir.” I got out of the van and surveyed the airfield.

  Samson snickered. “Go ahead. Make a run for it. You won’t get ten feet.”

  I rolled my eyes and had a flock of pigeons do a fly over.

  Samson cursed viciously.

  His two men burst into laughter.

  I climbed the boarding steps and surveyed the interior. The jet had six white leather seats, a tiny kitchen and a bathroom. I made a mad dash for it. I really needed to pee.

  I quickly shut and locked the door. One look in the mirror and I almost had a heart attack. My hair was a tangled mess. Dirt coated my face and my uniform was filthy.

  I checked the drawers in the small cabinet and hit the jackpot. A comb, a toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste and sunblock. Within five minutes, I didn’t resemble a street person anymore.

  “Kandi!” Samson bellowed.

  “I’m in the bathroom,” I bellowed back.

  “Hurry up.”

  I did my business, flushed the toilet and slowly washed my hands.

  Samson banged on the door. “Get your ass in gear.”

  I opened the door and bit my lip to keep from grinning. Samson was covered in bird shit. “Got any food or water.”

  “Refrigerator.” He yanked off his crap-covered tee-shirt, revealing a nice set of abs and several nasty looking scars. “So help me God, if you ever pull a stunt like that again, I’ll throw you in the deepest, darkest hole I can find.”

  “You sound a lot like Dutch.”

  “You did this to him too?” The stunned note in Samson’s voice was hilarious.

  “I did.”

  “And you’re not doing time in the county jail?”

  “Nope. I helped him solve a bunch of homicides. We’re all good now.”

  “No, the idiot fell in love with you,” Samson grou
sed and slammed the bathroom door behind him.

  “Yep.” I opened the refrigerator and peered in. Hmmm. Beer, water, yogurt, some grapes and cheese.

  “There’s nuts and crackers in the cabinet above you,” Poster Boy said.

  “Thanks. Got a name?”

  “Chet.”

  I held out my hand. “I’m Kandi.”

  Chet took my hand and kissed my knuckles. “You are everything Harry said and more. If you need anything, anything at all, ask me.”

  “You think sucking up will keep you free of bird shit?”

  “Yes, ma’am and I need all my toes.” Chet released my hand.

  “Hey, I warned Samson and he didn’t listen.” Gathering up my goodies, I took a seat and pointed at the other guy. “What’s his name?”

  “They call him the Beast.”

  “Huh? What’s his real name?”

  “Ted.”

  Ted closed and locked the hatch and took a seat in the cockpit.

  Samson stormed out of the bathroom. “Buckle up.”

  “Yes sir,” I fastened my seatbelt.

  He pulled on a camo tee-shirt and took the pilot’s seat.

  “How many flight hours has Samson logged?”

  “Enough,” Chet said and buckled his seatbelt.

  “Oh, yay.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chico’s airport consisted of a big metal hanger, a windsock and two runways large enough to handle cargo planes. A fuel tanker was parked a short distance away.

  Samson landed the jet smoothly and taxied over to the hanger.

  I watched out the window as a Hispanic man opened the metal doors. “Is he one of yours?”

  “That’s Juan. He’s our logistics man,” Chet responded.

  As soon as Samson taxied the jet inside the hanger, he shut down the jet’s engines.

  Chet leaned forward. “A word to the wise. Our mission is too important for your shenanigans to continue. If you want to see your family again, get your head in the game.”

  “Copy that.” God help me, I had agreed to their suicidal plan.

  Ted opened the hatch, put the stairs down and looked back at me. “Ladies first.”

  Unbuckling my seatbelt, I got up and exited the jet. The heat and humidity smacked me in the face. “Ugh.”

  “Suck it up, buttercup, the temperature in Pakistan is 128 degrees,” Samson said.

  I shrugged. “Just another summer day in Phoenix.”