Page 1 of Bad Rio

Chapter One

Rio Lang was bad. Notbad in an unhealthy, or ill behaved, or even in an evil way. He was bad in the way of the soulless. He just didn’t give a damn.

To him, people were not individuals. They were numbers. His job was to protect, or save, or shield whomever he’d been assigned to, and the hell with everyone else. People called him cold. He wasn’t cold. He was indifferent.

Black Eagle, the deeply secret organization that employed him, was a shadowy cell operating inside the CIA, but definitely outside its official parameters. Most Americans were blissfully unaware of the need for men with his particular ex-Special Forces skills. Black Eagle kept a tight leash on his missions, and on him.

Or so they thought.

Women were attracted to Rio’s six-foot-three, movie star good looks—his blond hair, his bold blue eyes, and his musculature. By any judgment, his physique was toned and in top condition. So he took the women who offered, took them without emotion, without promises. He just didn’t think about it. Why should he?

Rio was bad, with no conscience to speak of, with no family to care about except Big Jim, his adoptive father, and Sarah, his little sister. Back home on the sprawling Montana cattle ranch, his family was safe, and few knew about their connection. Although this meant he only saw Big Jim and Sarah infrequently, it was without question for the best.

It made sense to remain a lone wolf. People who became associated with Rio, the ones hewasn’tprotecting, tended to get dead.

Now, crouched in the dark of night outside a hole-in-the-wall Mexican cantina’s bathroom, he kept hidden and well below the window. How the hell he’d ended up so deep in the country, in the middle of dangerous Chihuahua State at this out-of-the-way dump, he wasn’t quite sure.

The one thing he was completely certain of was the importance of this job to his future. His last contract had ended in a colossal screw-up, and he’d been running the show.

One more mistake and he’d be out of work. That was unacceptable, because the job was his life. Given his isolation from family, from most others, he lived for it.

Tonight, nothing dared go wrong.

The unholy stench in the underbrush reflected the overall cleanliness of the establishment. Had he given in to olfactory assaults, he would have been repulsed by odors of human waste, fetid vegetation, and spoiled food. He ignored them. On equally dangerous missions overseas, back when he’d served in the military, he’d smelled far worse.

In Nigeria, he’d tangled with Boko Haram. In Iraq, he’d fought the Taliban. In Yemen, he’d saved a British journalist from a certain beheading by drug-crazed ISIS fighters. Across his stomach he still bore the scar, courtesy of the madman’s long knife.

During his military service as team leader to get his men to safety, he’d crawled over rotting corpses. Oh, he’d smelled far worse than this worn-down cantina.

Inside the restroom, the woman was taking so long that he nearly gave up, leaped through the window and made off with her. This was to be a one-woman hostage grab, and he’d been patient, more patient than he’d been in a long time. After all the following, anticipating, and stalking he’d done across Mexico, the right moment to wrest her from her captor’s grasp was at hand.

The criminals had finally made a mistake by allowing her to go unescorted into the saloon’s bathroom. They weren’t completely stupid, and for their short stop, they’d set roving patrols. The last team of armed banditos had just sauntered by him, never seeing him in the darkness. Special Ops guys were trained to become invisible. Rio was especially good at this game. He was good at a lot of things.

Just three days ago, the criminal cartel had forcibly snatched their target, an American heiress, from the United States ambassador’s Mexican mansion. The ambassador’s summer residence was located in Matamoros, near the Texas border. His official home was in Mexico City, but nobody wanted to go there. Too much industry, traffic, noise. In contrast, the compound in Matamoros was lovely, with an enormous home, tropical plantings, and a huge rock pool.

Rebecca De Monte had been visiting her former college roommate, the ambassador’s daughter. The thugs’ obvious intention was ransom. While still young at twenty-eight, Rebecca De Monte had a rich daddy—a thriving Texas businessman—and one day she would inherit a small fortune. The bandits stood to make at least a million bucks off of Rebecca’s panicked father.

Normally, the FBI, Homeland Security, and a host of other alphabet organizations would lead a mission like this. However, Rebecca’s father was reputed to have important political ties. An international incident involving kidnapping could blow up in the press like an IED exploding beneath a Humvee. Rio had been there, suffered that, and it wasn’t fun. Such an outcome was unacceptable.

Thus, he’d gotten the job. Keep it quiet and get her back. Simple.

He grimaced at the knotting of his thigh muscles. He’d been hunkered down in the rotted underbrush beneath the window for so long his quadriceps protested.

At last he heard the bathroom stall door creak open.

Making a quick search around and finding the patrol gone, Rio shoved up the old casement window, hoisted himself onto the frame and hopped smoothly into the small bathroom.

At the sink drying her hands, the woman gasped.

Before she could take a second breath, he was on her. As she whirled to run, he wrapped his arms around her from behind and slammed a hand over her mouth.

His lips touching her ear, he whispered, “Shhh, Becca. I’m Rio and I’m here to save you.”

Instead of sagging against him in relief, the damn female struggled like a she-devil. She made urgent noises against his hand. He kept it tightly bound to her lips, and then dragged her over to the wall.

She tried to kick backward at his knees, but he easily out-maneuvered her. Struggling in his arms, she clawed at him, attempted to bite him, thrust her head back in an effort at a backward head butt.

She was no match. Taller by a good twelve inches, heavier by nearly a hundred pounds, he squeezed tighter in warning, nearly crushed her until she couldn’t breathe. It was necessary.

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